Crag was happy, very happy. He had found not only one rat but three whole fresh rats! Humming happily with a sound of pebbles being ground to dust, he made his way through the rubble-strewn walkway, kicking aside smaller stones in his way and picking the rats up. Holding the bloodied corpses in his hand, he eyed the blood-stained rubble pile and gathered that the territory battle had been there.

He examined the tailless blood-covered small rat with interest, barely a mouthful, before stuffing it in his bag with the rest. That had probably been the intruder in the territory.

Looking around for more rats he noticed a small rattail between the rubble and picked it up. It was covered in dirt, but he didn’t mind a bit of dirt, it added extra flavor! He popped it in his mouth and slurped the last bit in, chewing happily on his snack. Nice and chewy! His mood lifted even more.

Scratching his back, keeping an eye out for more edibles, he noticed a big bulky rat peering at him from around a corner. The rat meeting his eyes let out a small panicked squeak and skittered away very quickly.

“Crag can try out his new skill now!”

Clapping his hands together excitedly he made a little shuffle dance. He hadn’t had a chance yet to try out his new skill, critters somehow always heard him long before he came along, and were gone without indication they had been there.

“Crag is smart hunter, Crag follows rat home from distance, Crag get more rats from rathome!”

With a greedy grin, revealing yellow pointy teeth, he whispered with eagerness, whilst keeping the rat he saw earlier fixed in his mind.

“[track critter]”

In his mind, he felt a slight pulling sensation, as if someone was pulling one of the stubby hairs adorning his head. The pulling sensation was in the direction he had seen the rat skitter away. Shifting his bag around so it rested comfortably, he set out at a sedated pace after the rat.

“Crag no rush, rat think rat safe, rat goes home. Rat eat and sleep, Crag come, rat dead!”

With a giggle that echoed throughout the sewers, echoes transforming it into a mad cacophony, he made his way into the darkness of the sewer, following the gradual pulling sensation.

--------------

Boredom poked at his mind. He had been following the fat rat from a distance for a while now, and it still hadn’t gone home. Picking his long nose with a blackened nail, he wondered if the rat knew that he was following it.

Examining the gunk he had pulled free from his nose he noticed it had some dark edges on it. It was a good chunk this time. He popped it in his mouth and he suckled his long hardened nail clean.

The sensation was still leading him forward through these dark tunnels. He recognized these faintly. He might have passed these when he was on his way back from the bounty spot, where he had found all those nice scraps. That had been a good haul. Maybe the rats had wandered far away from their warren chasing the intruder?

Musing about the determination of rats he made his way through an especially nasty piece of the sewer. Putrid cold water was flowing around him, reaching up to his waist. Crag didn’t mind that so much, as long as it didn't come on his face, he knew that it would dry relatively quickly. He eyed the small ledge that would hold a rat easily. The rat must have ambled over there, keeping high and dry.

At the end of the tunnel, a larger crossing of tunnels could be seen and human walkways re-emerged. He lifted himself out of the sewer water onto a walkway and walked towards the wall, and let himself slip down against it. He needed a little break from all this exercise. No more than fair for all his hard efforts!

Nodding happily to his decision to take a rest, he decided he would need some food too. No hunter should hunt on an empty stomach! He would be too weak to follow the rat to his home if he was weak, making the entire effort futile. Nodding sagely at his conclusions he opened the soaked bag and rummaged among the contents. Bugs and rats, not much choice there. He considered treating himself to one of the two larger rats but decided against it. Even if he wouldn’t find the rat home, those larger rats would raise his status more than the little rat.

He had to return as a glorious hunter this time!

Taking the little tailless mutilated rat from the bag he bit off the head of the thing and crunched it to pieces with his sharp teeth. He had to consider what to do when he got to the warren. Five rats were no problem for him, but ten rats would be a problem. If they would rise to defend their warren he would have a problem. He needed a weapon to help him kill the rats quickly before they could overwhelm him. It would do no good to end up as rat food.

Looking around for something useable as a makeshift weapon, he dropped the headless rat on the floor. He took off his bag and dropped it next to his snack, then got up moved around a bit, looking for a strong piece of junk wood or a sturdy root.

Finding nothing nearby he got an idea. Humans dumped stuff in the sewer all the time. Sometimes even wood and metal pieces. The metal pieces were highly valued in the tribe. He would rise even higher in esteem if he could find something made from metal.

Hesitating for only a moment, remembering how cold the water was, he jumped back in the water with a loud splash. He made his way to where the waterways crossed into four directions. Stuff tended to gather there where the waters mixed. At the crossing waterways, the water was even deeper, and the current was stronger there. He had to fight to stay upright in the chest-deep water and not to be swept away by the current.

Gingerly touching away with his feet over the invisible floor under the murky water, he inched around. He raised his hands out of the water to increase his balance in the current that was trying to jank his feet from the bottom.

A brown mass bumped against his chest and stuck there. His face scrunched up in annoyance and he twisted his body, so the current would slowly peel it away from his chest. Navigating the dirty waters he felt a soft and spongy mass that his feet sank into. Digging around with his feet made the water downstream darker, but revealed no treasures that he could feel beneath the soft stuff just normal stone flooring.

Moving a bit to the side his feet hit something hard and larger. Rubbing his feet against it, he felt a slimy mass covering something that felt like wood to his feet. He kicked against it with all the power he could muster underwater and it held up.

A satisfied smile appeared beneath his long nose, as he lowered his arms in the water. He tried to lever it up with his feet so he could lift it further with his hands, but the thing would not move. He pushed against it with his feet, bracing against the push with his other leg, and making swimming motions with his hands to keep above water, and felt it give ever so slightly.

With a resigned grunt, he took a deep breath and then disappeared underwater. He kept his eyes closed, as not to get them infected as Borke had gotten them. Goblins learned early that they needed to close their eyes when working underwater or risk losing them.

Gripping his way towards the wooden thing he wrapped his arms around it as good as he could, digging his long nails into the slimy wood, and then lifted with his legs. His feet sank deep into the soft slimy soil covering the sewer floor here, and small bubbles escaped the corner of his lips. He could feel them entering his nose, which felt uncomfortable and he wanted to sneeze. Goblins were not made for underwater work!

The wooden thing slowly released itself from the sewer floor, becoming lighter to move the higher he got it. He imagined that if he wasn’t underwater he would hear a large suction release noise. With a final heave, the thing was free, and he surfaced quickly, keeping a firm grip on the wooden thing so the current couldn't drag it away. He shook his head to get most of the slimy water off, sending brown droplets flying everywhere.

He could feel the cold air on his skin, but he held his mouth and eyes closed and breathed in ever so carefully through his nose and moved blindly to where he knew his bag to be. After walking upstream against the current for a bit, he bumped painfully against the stone of the walkway, bruising his nose. After having heaved the wooden thing on the side with some effort, he climbed out. Crawling on all fours he touched his way forward, trying to locate his bag.

Reaching the wall eventually, he followed the wall by keeping one hand in contact with it and touching around with his other hand. He felt something rough under his fingers and grabbed it tightly. He fumbled with the opening a bit but got it open eventually, and took one of the spare bags from the bag. Carefully wiping his face clean, taking great care to clean his eyes first, then his mouth, he finally took a deep breath and leaned down against the wall. That had been more exhausting than expected.

He stuffed the spare bag back into his main bag and scratched his chest which was still covered in a slimy sheen. He eyed the slime-covered rectangular piece of wood he had lifted out, about the size of his leg, but didn’t feel like examining it closer as of yet. He needed to collect himself for a bit.

Eyeing the partially eaten rat, he made up his mind that this was an excellent opportunity for a lunch break.

Setting his teeth into the small rat body, he bit down and felt the juices explode in his mouth. Taking his time to enjoy this fresh meal, he decided to himself that if his quarry didn’t lead him to a warren, nobody would need to know there had been three rats. There had only been two rats ever. No need to get flack for eating tribe food alone.

He was shaken from his deliberations by a notification popping up unexpectedly.

[Ritual of reactivation active]

[New ritualist found for active ritual]

[Ritual 3 out of 4 in progress: The bounty of death]

[23 hours remaining for completion]

[The bounty of death]

[3/100]

[Host Charisma +10]

Staring at the notification in bewilderment, he wondered what he must have done to get such a complex notification. He could barely understand what it all meant, that’s how complex it was.

Picking the last pieces of rat clean from between his teeth with his pinky nail, he poured slowly over each piece of the notification. He focussed his attention on [The bounty of death], which sounded most interesting.

[The bounty of death]

The ritualist must end a hundred lives of any lifeform, sized critter or larger, for the ritual to progress. For each critter killed the ritualist will gain permanent mana and health bonus relative to the life ended.

Well, that was a nice surprise. He could increase his health pool this way by killing things. That was even better than the normal experience that would slowly trickle in, raising his levels. He frowned at the fact that three of the hundred possible kills had already been taken. Those were three opportunities less for him to increase his abilities. And he only had 23 hours to make the kills or it would be gone! He had to hurry!

Discarding the notification with a grunt, he quickly got up and tied his bag over his chest. He ambled towards the wooden thing he had put so much effort into lifting from the water.

Scraping the slime and pieces of gunk away from the wood he noticed it was a long slim chest that was nailed shut. Prying at the edges with his strong nails, he chipped away at the softened wood, until he had a decent purchase for his hands.

With a lot of effort and tugging at the wood, his purchase improved and the wood started to separate. Filthy water spilled slowly out of the cracks, flowing lazily, covering the floor in a slippery brown goop. With a final tug, the lid tore free from the chest. He eyed the lid and the nails poking from it. That would make a good, wieldable weapon if the chest contained nothing usable for him to use.

He dropped the lid to the side of the chest, sending clattering sounds throughout the tunnels, and got down on his knees in the brown puddle.

He examined the brown muck-covered insides of the chest and reached in, digging around through it. His hand touched something cold and hard. He pulled it from the chest and scraped the muck from it, it was heavy and stick-shaped. His red eyes lit up with joy, and a deep chuckle escaped his chest. He had hit the jackpot, it was a solid rod of rusted iron, about the length of his arm.

He quickly put the rod aside and dug further in the chest with renewed vigor, and found three more rusted rods.

His fame would be great in the tribe! These were prime-quality weapons! He might even be able to keep one of them as a reward for finding them!

Crag, wielder of an iron rod! His elation made him giddy, and he couldn’t stop himself from chuckling as he hid the three rods and the chest on the small ratway in the tunnel he had come from. Nobody would find it there unless they went through the water.

Grasping his rod firmly, he stroked it lovingly with his other hand. He had a really strong rod and as he swung it around, shifting his grip around on it, he got a good feel for the girth of the thing. It felt good in his hand. Not too long, not too short, just right for him to wield as a weapon.

He let it slide through his hand more gently, touching it everywhere in an attempt to discover any weak spots that might fail when he was using it. No good for the rod bending if he used it for some vigorous stabbing.

With a satisfied sigh, he concluded that this was an excellent weapon to swing around. Everybody would be in awe of his mighty rod and would want to touch it! Along with the charisma bonus, Crag would be a hero of the tribe!

Humming a grisly tune, he set off again, his tune occasionally assisted by a metalling bang, he followed the tugging feeling his skill still provided. The rat had stopped moving, so maybe it was finally at his warren.